


Full

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Butt Plugs, M/M, Sex Toys, Stuff Yuuri Katsuki Full of Cock 2k17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10053443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On the second day of the 2017 Worlds Competition, he takes a bumpy taxi ride from where they’re staying at the Hilton Helsinki Kalastajatorppa to Hartwell Arena, skates a gold medal-winning singles program, gives at least an hour’s worth of interviews to every major network that exists, meets with an insanely wealthy couple that wants him to give pointers to their daughter who would much rather talk to him about horses than skating, and goes out for dinner and drinks with the usual suspects—all with a thick plug inside him that rubs up against his prostate every time he so much as breathes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Still waving the "I want that sweet boy positively overflowing with dick" banner. This was originally written for the following prompt on [tumblr](http://rcmclachlan.tumblr.com/post/156820932972/dark-rc-please-gift-us-with-your-head-cannons-do): "do Viktor and Yuuri have any sex toys besides the [dildo Chris gave Yuuri](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9182155)?"

On the second day of the 2017 Worlds Competition, he takes a bumpy taxi ride from where they’re staying at the Hilton Helsinki Kalastajatorppa to Hartwell Arena, skates a gold medal-winning singles program, gives at least an hour’s worth of interviews to every major network that exists, meets with an insanely wealthy couple that wants him to give pointers to their daughter who would much rather talk to him about horses than skating, and goes out for dinner and drinks with the usual suspects—all with a thick plug inside him that rubs up against his prostate every time he so much as breathes.

It started off as a joke. Victor woke him out of a sound sleep that morning to surprise him with a wrapped box, complete with a red ribbon tied into a beautifully complex bow. Pleased, Yuuri sat up, tore off the paper, and opened it to find—

“Just think how beautiful you’ll look wearing it on top of the podium,” Victor had murmured, gingerly removing the gift from the box and holding it up to the light streaming through the window behind them. It looked like a spade, its bulbous head narrowing to a point, and the sunlight caught the little pockets of air trapped on the inside of the glass. “Like a work of art.”

“You won’t be able to even see it.” Yuuri’s throat had gone bone dry at the covetous look on Victor’s face. His belly clenched with want.

Victor flashed him the smile usually reserved for their softer moments—gentle kisses at sunset, impromptu waltzing in their living room, holding hands and fiddling with each other’s ring with the kind of familiarity that usually comes with decades—and it positively scorched to see it employed for this kind of thing.

“No,” Victor agreed, lifting the plug to his lips. Yuuri was helpless to do anything except flick his tongue against the edge of the head where it would stretch him beyond imagining. “But I’ll _know_.”

They agreed that Yuuri would take it out after his program, at which point Victor would meet him in one of the bathrooms and finally fuck him. Except that moment came and Victor took one look at his red face, the desperate light in his eyes, and whispered, “Keep it in.”

Which means he’s been fighting the urge to come for almost 14 hours now.

He spends the entire time they’re at dinner trying not to draw attention to how much he’s twitching, how much he’s sweating, but whenever he shifts to try and escape the pressure, pleasure blossoms inside him like the hot spread of a bruise. He’s running out of places on the inside of his cheek to bite, but at least no one’s any the wiser.

“ _Yuuri._ ”

The elbow that Phichit buries in his side makes him jerk in surprise, which makes him choke a little when the plug grinds right up against where he does and doesn’t want it. “W-What?”

“Chris asked you to pass the bread bowl,” Phichit says, giving him a dubious but tentatively supportive look, because Phichit is someday going to be a candidate for canonization if Yuuri has anything to say about it. “Four times. Are you okay?”

Chris lifts a knowing brow and positively _beams_ at him. “Yes, Yuuri, you look positively flushed. Are you feeling well?”

No. He’s really rather _not,_ mostly because he can’t find two cells to rub together in the radioactive sludge pool that was once his brain. With a hand that barely trembles—go him—he leans up, hands Chris the bowl of bread, and sits back down. Hard. He nearly bites his tongue in half.

Next to Chris, Victor presses a wicked smile into the rim of his wine glass and loudly says nothing.

Yurio slants him a suspicious glare, turns it on Yuuri, and then back to Victor. “I don’t know what the fuck you two are doing, but I _hate_ it.”

“I’m _fine_.” Even to his own ears, he sounds breathless and maybe a little bit in pain. Like he’s been sucker punched. “Just. I’m just—”

“Overwhelmed,” Otabek supplies, red-cheeked, and very pointedly does not look at him. Yuuri’s gonna steal a car and drive until he hits the ocean, then keep going. “Congratulations on winning gold.”

At that, Yurio growls and mutters something into his soda, betrayed. The performance that netted Yurio silver was the result of hundreds of hours of rehearsal; it probably rankled like hell to be on the lower platform. Yuuri honestly hadn’t been paying much attention at the time—he’d been too busy trying not to faint. Landing those quads had felt an awful lot like how he always imagined his death: a creeping white at the edges of his vision, sweetly coaxing him to give himself over to it, followed by a punch to the gut.

“What should we do after dinner?” Phichit smiles at their server when they bring him a refill of his Sprite.

“There’s a lot to see,” Chris muses, tapping a finger against the corner of his mouth. He shoots Yuuri a sly grin. “It would involve a _lot_ of walking.”

This is it. Of course this how he dies. At least the coroner that gets him will have a hilarious story to tell their friends.

“Actually.” It’s absolutely astonishing that none of the others can see the crooked devil horns coming out of Victor’s head. Maybe that innocent ‘who, me?’ smile is like a shield that no one can see through. “Yuuri and I are gonna head back to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and I recognize that look—my Yuuri is tired.”

Tired of Victor’s bullshit, definitely.

“I do _not_ want to know what this is about,” Yurio snaps, and the fork in his hand bends almost in half under the force of his thumb. “There has never been a thing I want to know less. Don’t tell me.”

Shooting Yuuri a deadpan look, Otabek places a hand on Yurio’s shoulder in solidarity. Yuuri will never be able to be in the same room with him ever again.

“Aww,” Phichit moues. “Maybe we can do a little shopping before my flight tomorrow?”

“That sounds good.” If he even survives the night.

By the time he and Victor say their goodbyes, Yuuri is almost in tears. When they start walking down the street in the hopes of finding a less-crowded place to catch a cab, Victor tucks him under his arm and murmurs, “I can’t believe it’s still inside you. Why didn’t you just take it out?”

Yuuri tilts his head up to whisper into his ear, “Because I knew that the reward would be worth it. It’d _better_ be if you know what’s good for you.”

“Ah, Yuuri.” Victor presses a kiss to the side of his head. When he pulls back, it’s with a playful lick to the edge of his eyebrow. “I hope you’re not _too_ tired, because I don’t plan on letting you sleep tonight.”

Say what you will about Victor—he’s finicky, he’s a bit of an airhead, his perception of reality is definitely skewed—but he is a man of his word.

Swallowing around the desert in his throat takes some doing, but Yuuri somehow manages. “The next time I do this, it’d better be for a good reason. Because unless it’s keeping your…” He can’t say it. “… _you know_ inside me all day, I’m not doing it.”

Victor gives him the shocked, wide-eyed stare of a man struck in the head with a bat, then turns so fast to wave down a passing cab that he nearly faceplants into the street. “TAXI!”

+

  
He loses count of how many times throughout the day Victor gently coaxes it out of him, murmuring to his body to relinquish it so he can give it what it really wants, but every time is still as shocking as the first. And like the times before, Yuuri puts up a fight, having settled around the glass to keep it where it’s warm and familiar, snug, but he gives in centimeters, a slow drip that makes sweat bead at his temples and punches the most mortifying sounds out of his mouth, until it’s finally out. Victor pauses, spends endless seconds watching Yuuri’s loose hole clench around the come that trickles out with a stare that feels like an actual touch, until Yuuri whines and pants like a whore for him to get on with it. Only then does Victor fuck the come back inside; forces his cock through the wads of it still in there, where Yuuri tightens around him gratefully and revels in the burn of living flesh and the pleasure-pain that flares hot white when the head of Victor’s dick rubs where he’s raw and swollen.

“How many more?” Victor rasps into his ear, pressing messy kisses and scraping his teeth against the skin behind it, slamming up into him so far that Yuuri swears he can feel the head of Victor’s cock in his throat. “How many more until you’re full?”

He’s been riding the simmer of lust and agony for ages, been fucked stupid and pumped full of Victor’s come almost every hour, plugged up each time and left to wait for the next. It’s a feeling he carries around with him: the slick rub of the glass, the slosh in his guts, the anticipation. It should be unbearable, shameful, to be used like this. To be a receptacle. But he can’t think of anything, besides maybe Victor himself, that he loves more.

“I’ll say when,” Yuuri grits out between clenched teeth and presses his ass back, begging for that cock to give him harder, faster, more more more. He never knew he could be so greedy.

It doesn’t take long before Victor comes hard inside him. Yuuri doesn’t feel it, but if he could there’s so much in there now that it’d be lost anyway, and later there will be even more.

He’s never going to say “when.”

He’ll never be full.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yuuri, you slut. I'm so proud.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://rcmclachlan.tumblr.com)!


End file.
